


Unstoppable Force vs. Immovable Sickness

by wemighthavebeenqueens



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode V: Empire Strikes Back, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: (only reason why it's ranked teen is for swearing that's it), Cute, Fluff, Gen, Sickfic, Swearing, i may add another chapter to this but i like it for right now??, living on hoth is rough
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-29 16:18:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11444496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wemighthavebeenqueens/pseuds/wemighthavebeenqueens
Summary: 99.9% Immunity - (character) never gets sick, right? Wrong.As far as half the starfighter squads of the Rebel alliance were concerned, Wedge Antilles had once looked the equivalent of God in the eye and flipped Him off, and God Himself said “Fuck it, Wedge, you get to live forever.” Perhaps this was an exaggeration, but Wedge Antilles was more durable than the shittiest stolen and jury-rigged Old Republic A-Wing and more permanent than the never ending snowstorms of Hoth.





	Unstoppable Force vs. Immovable Sickness

In the Rebel Alliance, life and health was constantly uncertain. The Rebel base, a deeply kept secret, was never a permanent home, as it had to be moved whenever the Empire caught so much of a whiff of it. Besides, bases often had to be on the most far out (and as rebels often complained, most unliveable) rocks in the galaxy. Working hours for a rebel were long and arduous and uncertain- who knew when you’d have to be roused on account of some emergency? Food and lodging, too, could be uncertain, and it was a rite of passage to learn how to sleep in/on a) the floor b) a starfighter cockpit c) the back of a transportation cruiser d) the ground, outdoors e) your feet (as in sleeping standing up). Hell, being a rebel was stressful, and in those uncertain years, there was a high death rate. It was easy to be injured or killed in skirmishes and battles with the Empire, especially as the rebels were often a pretty ragtag bunch of impassioned humanoids fighting for their damn lives. Taking all this into account, let’s just say the rebel medics had their work absolutely cut out for them during those years. Rebels got sick, lost limbs, dealt with crumbling mental health, dealt with blaster wounds and crash injuries and every other kind of malady imaginable. But there were still some who seemed absolutely indestructible.  
As far as half the starfighter squads of the Rebel alliance were concerned, Wedge Antilles had once looked the equivalent of God in the eye and flipped Him off, and God Himself said “Fuck it, Wedge, you get to live forever.” Perhaps this was an exaggeration, but Wedge Antilles was more durable than the shittiest stolen and jury-rigged Old Republic A-Wing and more permanent than the never ending snowstorms of Hoth. Nothing in the galaxy could stop Wedge. He wasn’t all that old, but he was already a veteran, most notably of Yavin. Very few pilots had survived Yavin (and of course Luke Skywalker had, the sunshine kid almost certainly had the Force in every one of his veins, or else he was the luckiest little fucker to ever volunteer for and win his very first battle ever.) but Wedge had come home almost completely unscathed, despite the fact that his starboard engine had been entirely blown out. In space. Oh yeah, he was pretty lucky too.  
He’d been in the Rebellion for a handful of years, and he’d just lasted. Looking at him, it sort of made sense. He was kind of short, and not particularly stocky, but definitely not one to be blown over by a breeze. He had this intense, steady, stoic gaze, which freaked out a lot of the younger pilots, but he was friendly, quick to smile whenever he wasn’t flying or fighting, quick to befriend and mentor the pilots far less experienced than he. Rebels came and went in various states of health, but no one ever doubted that Wedge wouldn’t be up and ready to work every single day.  
“Wedge Antilles? Is sick?”  
Zev Senesca, veteran pilot, rubbed his eyes and leaned back in the uncomfortable canteen chair. “Sure seems like it.”  
“Fuck,” Shara Bey, from Green squadron, spat. “That sure doesn’t help anything.” She propped her feet up on the table, which earned her a smack on the ankle from Jaya Pava.  
Derek Klivian, usually called Hobbie,leaned across the table. “You can’t be serious. Wedge Antilles never gets sick. Not like he could now-right?”  
Dak Ralter rolled his eyes, a bold move from the youngest in his squadron. He waved a hand around him. “Look where we are- this ice hell? What do you expect? We’ve all gotten sick, why not Wedge?”  
Dorovio Bold nodded in agreement, her eyes glancing around, taking in the icy surroundings of Echo Base. “It’s too fucking cold here to stay healthy.”  
The pilots nodded in defeated agreement. Hobbie shook his head a little. “But Wedge. He’s invincible. What’d he catch?”  
Zev shrugged and wrapped his hands around his now iced-over drink. “Why don’t you ask him?”  
The pilots glanced up, noticing a figure shuffling towards them. It was Wedge, bundled in a too-large general commission parka, a fuzzy hat pulled over his dark hair. He was moving slowly, painfully, as he reached their table and pulled up a chair, slumping into it.  
“Caraya’s soul, Antilles, you look like you’re going to die,” Jaya said bluntly. Wedge didn’t respond. He only coughed.  
“Hey, fuck off, buddy,” Shara said gently. “You look like you need some sleep, and you’re not gonna get it here.”  
“Not least while I’m bitching about how my X-wing fuel tanks froze last night.” Zev grumbled.  
Wedge finally spoke. His voice was grating and hoarse. “I have so much shit to do.”  
“Hey, hey buddy, no you don’t, you gotta get better before the Empire blows us to shit,” Hobbie reassured him. There was a loud thud behind him, and the pilots all turned to look.  
Luke Skywalker was getting up off the floor, an embarrassed smile dancing on his lips. “Sorry there, slipped again.” He trotted over and sat down on the table.  
“Boots.” Dorovio said.  
“What about them?” Luke asked, crossing his right leg across his left knee.  
“Your soles are all worn out. Probably why you keep sliding on the ice.”  
Luke rubbed the sole of his boot and nodded. “Cause I keep having to go out on border duty. Besides, I’m still not used to ice. Doesn’t matter that we’ve been here for a few months, I’ve never been this cold in my life- I’m just not built for this!”  
Dorovio nodded in commiseration and punched him in the shoulder. “We’ll see if we can get you a new pair kid, those general commission boots are the worst. Get off the table.”  
Luke slid into a chair and glanced over at Wedge. “Wedge- buddy- what happened to you?”  
Wedge at this point was slumped halfway down the chair, his arms crossed across his chest and his head deep into the hood of his parka. “Please kill me.”  
Luke climbed up on the table again and slid over to Wedge. “No seriously, what’d you do this time?”  
Wedge ran his hands over his face, which was unnaturally flushed. “Sick.”  
“The invincible Wedge, sick?” Luke joked, patting Wedge on the arm. “Hey, that’s not like you!”  
“Lay off it!” Wedge snapped weakly. “I get it, I’m never sick, but now I am, okay? And I feel like...like death.”  
“Well buddy, I don’t think you’re going to die.” Shara said assuredly, pulling off her gloves and examining her fingernails casually. “And if you do, we’ll, uh…”  
“Shoot you into space in your X-wing and let you float in the stars forever.” Zev said, earning an eyeroll and the ghost of a smile from Wedge.  
“Don’t you moon jockeys have work to be doing?” Leia Organa strolled into the canteen like she owned the place, still in the process of braiding her hair. She walked over and leaned against the back of Wedge’s chair to talk to Luke.  
“Not that I know of, sir,” Dak responded respectfully.  
“I’ve got nothing to do, who would think?” Luke said cheerfully.  
“Catch us a break, I get twenty minutes off and this is what I get?” said Wedge. He pulled his hood down further. “I want permanent sleep.”  
Leia glanced down at him. “What’s gotten into you?”  
“A terrible disease, apparently,” Shara told her.  
“The worst.”  
“He might DIE.” (Wedge halfheartedly swatted Hobbie’s wrist at this.)  
“Must be what Han got earlier,” Leia mused. “He was a real pain because of that.”  
“Han got sick?” Luke asked curiously. “And how did I not notice?”  
Leia shrugged. “Didn’t you notice when he holed himself up inside the Falcon for three days and refused to be helpful?”  
“Oh yeah,” Luke said. “He kinda disappeared. Sounds pretty bad- you doing okay Wedge? Wedge?”  
Wedge was slumped forward, his face pressed into Luke’s knee. “Fuzzy,” he mumbled.  
Luke leaned forward, his hand hovering above Wedge’s hair. “Buddy, what?”  
“Everything’s fuzzy,” repeated Wedge, slowly and painfully sitting back up and running his hands down his face.  
“Yeah, okay, you’re going to med bay,” Luke said decisively, sliding off the table and taking Wedge’s arm. The rest of the squad murmured approval. Leia rolled her eyes.  
“About time.”  
Wedge stood up and stumbled off, leaning on Luke. Leia watched the two of them go, smiling a little to herself. Luke’s stride was sure, unlike how he usually slipped on the icy floors. He was pretty good at helping people- she supposed it was in his nature.

**Author's Note:**

> Please enjoy this fic, and let me know if you think that I should add more to it! Thank you!
> 
> Also, thanks to athenasdragon for the prompt!


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